


Death in the Desert

by wendighost



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Evil ladies flirting, F/F, Heist, Mild Smut, some smut later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-08-22 14:10:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16599389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendighost/pseuds/wendighost
Summary: When a lucrative opportunity presents itself, Moira takes matters into her own hands and travels to Route 66 to hire the Deadlock gang for a high-stakes heist. She expects to have to get her hands dirty. What she doesn't expect is Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! This came to me fully formed. This is kiiiinda my new favorite ship. I'm really into it so hopefully I'll update soon.

Moira O’Deorain hated waiting, and she made no effort to hide her displeasure. Her long nails clicked an unsteady rhythm against the aluminum diner table; her foot tapped against the floor. At one point out of curiosity, she took a single sip of the vile fluid they called “bottomless coffee” in this country, and the taste put her in such a wretched mood that the waitress didn’t dare approach her again. She wasn’t as threatening as she was used to, however: while the staff and patrons evidently felt her irritation most palpably, she found herself able to pass without the muffled horror that came when people recognized her. On a better day, she would have found that relaxing - reassuring, perhaps. Today, she found it intolerable. She pushed the coffee mug to the other side of the table.

The truth of it was that she was madder at herself than anyone else. For all the pull she supposedly had with Talon, she had been utterly unable to convince them to allocate resources to this venture. If she had only explained more clearly how useful this equipment would be for her research... but as it often did, her frustration at how slow they were to follow her won out over her rhetorical capacity. All they gave her was the plane ticket and the time off to do the work herself. 

And here I am, she thought bitterly. But she would not be doing the work herself. 

As if on cue, the doors swung open and the whole diner went suddenly still. Moira alone looked up from her table - the other patrons, she noted, were suddenly extremely interested in their food or the light coating of grease on their tables. 

She looked over the deadlock gang one by one. Most of them were immediately uninteresting to her: petty thieves, money grubbers, hired muscle. She stared at the omnic - an older model, larger than any of the others by at least a head, decorated in rather quaint fashion complete with a metallic moustache - a second longer than the rest. Finally, she found herself locking eyes with Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe. 

The leader of the Deadlock gang looked considerably younger than her 39 years, and she was a few shades paler than her underlings, but it was instantly clear that she commanded respect: with all their swagger, even the hired muscle made sure to give her a wide berth. Only the omnic seemed unconcerned about her wrath, and even he watched her with something between affection and reverence. Meanwhile, she paid her gang little attention as she nodded to Moira, then scanned the room. When she found nothing of note - threats? Opportunities? - she stepped towards Moira but kept her eyes behind the counter. 

“Lara Jean, what are you doing serving this to our dear guest?” 

Moira had heard that trill tonality the Americans called “southern charm” before, but never had she heard it used to such effect. The small huddle of workers behind the bar parted to leave Lara Jean the waitress alone at the bar, shaking like a leaf. 

“Miss Ashe, I—I had no idea she was yours,” she mumbled as Ashe approached her. 

“Mine or not, you serve this crap to visitors and you’re liable to give those outside our little community an unfavorable impression.” Ashe made broad, sweeping gestures as she spoke. It was a rather enthralling performance, though no one else looked very entertained.

“You’re right. I’m very sorry.” 

“Not to me you’re not.” For the first time since she entered the room, Ashe looked at Moira again. She paused a moment, then unfurled her arm to make another broad gesture. “I believe you’re sorry to the Doctor.” 

“Yes, yes of course. Miss, I —“

“ _Doctor_.” Ashe’s voice went ice cold - this was the last infraction - but Moira couldn’t help but smile at the correction. It was one she often had to make, even now. 

“D-Doctor,” Lara Jean continued. “I am so very sorry.” 

Moira relished the bar’s tense silence for a moment, then shrugged languidly. “I enjoyed the chance to sample the local offerings,” she said. “Perhaps if you have something of a little higher quality, though...” 

“Of course,” Ashe said. She waved Lara Jean off. “Find something more suitable for the good Doctor, won’t you?” And, turning to the rest of the bar: “Give us a little room to talk.” 

A good five minutes later, Ashe sat across from Moira, a pitcher of hot coffee and a selection of pastries between them. The diner was utterly empty and pleasantly quiet. 

“I’m sure you had a long trip coming all the way out here,” Ashe began. “My most sincere apologies you were not shown the hospitality you deserved.” 

“Think nothing of it. I appreciate the remote location and your own interventions in the matter.” Moira tipped her mug towards Ashe in emphasis. “I appreciate your discretion for such a ... sensitive request.”

Ashe cocked a brow. “I must admit, Doctor, I was rather surprised, being contacted by such a prestigious Talon official with such an enticing offer and then finding her alone at our meeting place. Doesn’t your organization have better funding than this? Given your wealthy patrons?”

Moira took note of the threat before the sympathy, but she registered both. “My organization spends its funding... considerately of the circumstances of our donors,” she said carefully. “We are encouraged to handle more speculative ventures individually. Which I am more than capable of doing.” 

Ashe chuckled. “I’m sure you are.” She took a long swig of the coffee. “Speculative ventures,” she continued. “Is that what they call grand larceny across the pond?” 

“That’s what they call it in business.” Moira got another chuckle for that. “But as I’m sure you’re aware, this is more than simple grand larceny.” 

“No, it’s the heist of some of the most cutting-edge medical technology in the world,” Ashe finished. “Technology that might just be able to bring back the dead. If only it can make the train trip across middle America down to Los Angeles.”

“So you understand why Talon might find it of interest.” 

“I understand why you might find it of interest, Doctor. If Talon found it so interesting they’d send an army, not one woman. Not even one so fine as yourself.” 

Moira pressed her lips together. That Ashe had the truth of it annoyed her almost as much as the compliment. She decided being honest was the best strategy. “The technology is more ... experimental than they’d like. I’m of a more ambitious sort, though, and you came very well-recommended. If you don’t believe your gang up to the task ...” 

Ashe smirked at that. “Of course we’re up to the task.” 

“Then I can provide ample payment for the service.”

“It’s not your money I want.” 

That caught Moira off-guard. She leaned back and took a long sip of her coffee. “Oh?”

“I’ve read a little bit of your research myself,” Ashe admitted. She leaned forward to close the distance Moira had drawn between them, and took a bite out of a doughnut. “I’m not a scientist, but I know that you can make people powerful. I know what you did to Reyes.” 

“Do you?” Moira found herself laughing. “How intriguing.” 

“I do my research on anyone who offers to fly across the world for a job. Now the way I see it, I get you your technology, you get me that power, we’ll call it even. No payment required.” 

“An enticing offer,” Moira admitted. And it was tempting. “But I can’t operate on just anyone. Even one so fine as yourself,” she added with an easy smile. 

Ashe smiled, but her eyes remained dead serious. “What is required?”

Moira sipped her coffee. “Physicals, DNA testing, a comprehensive medical history if you have it. There should be enough time before the train arrives next week, if you don’t mind preparing before your payment is secured.” 

“Sounds fine to me,” Ashe said. “But you’ll be staying with us in the meantime.” 

Moira considered fighting her on this - yet again, Ashe’s threats were so thinly veiled that the veil was practically useless - but staying with the Deadlock gang seemed suddenly intriguing to her. So she smiled and gestured to her bags behind the counter. “You have a deal.” 

She took Ashe’s hand to shake on it, and Ashe lifted it to her lips. “We most certainly do, Doctor.” 

Moira smiled.  _ Intriguing indeed. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira arrives at the Deadlock gang's hideout, and things get physical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the smut happened earlier than I thought! More to come :)

Moira rarely indulged in fantasy, but when she saw the Deadlock gang’s hideout for the first time, she allowed herself to be lost in it for a moment. 

She kept herself grounded by observing all she could about the gang. They didn’t blindfold her on the drive over, which told her they weren’t concerned with keeping the location secret. Ashe, Moira and BOB alone sat inside the car while the lackeys piled into the pickup in the back, which made Moira think that most of them, as Moira had suspected, were here on a temporary and tenuous basis. At the same time, though, they socialized rather boisterously, laughing and sharing a flask and playfully shoving each other, which made Moira think that their temporary appointments were perhaps longer than they’d originally planned for them to be. It was not a life Moira would have chosen for herself, she thought as she stole a glance at Ashe in the front seat. But the pull of it was undeniable. 

They drove along a sandy road for a good part of the afternoon, and just as the sun began to hang low on the horizon, the flatlands gave way to steep canyons and cliffs. Tucked in at the bottom of one such cliff was the Deadlock hideout: a grouping of houses built into the cliff face, made of scavenged metal, car parts and tin roofs.

Moira raised an eyebrow to Ashe, who only smiled. “I promise you, Doctor, it’s bigger on the inside.”

And it certainly did. The houses, as it turned out, were built into a labyrinthine cave system. Each henchman had their own house, but the common areas – and more importantly, the weapons and valuables procured from heists – were all deep inside the caves. “We don’t even know how far back in they go,” Ashe explained as she gave Moira the tour. “Just that if anyone followed us here, we could bury them in a cave a ways back and never get a whiff of the body.”

She allowed herself the moment just then, as Ashe hurried off to move some cargo deeper into the caves. Moira imagined one of the caverns, a kitchen and open dining space, as a laboratory. Ashe enjoyed the high ceilings, but Moira would take advantage of them: she would build medical machines two storeys high and use the extra room to generate energy for experiments. Her desk would be where the kitchen was now, overlooking the rest of the room from an outcropping of rocks. She would spend the mornings hunting hares and the evenings watching the infinite sunsets over the cliffs outside.

What if she were to leave Talon and start her own organization such as this one, somewhere remote but with access to key supply lines? She could make just enough money to fund her research independently, withdraw herself from the petty politics of global patronage, and watch from a peaceful vantage point as her discoveries changed the world. Rationally she knew she would tire of such a life. Still, she let herself sit in the vision of it for a moment.

“Doctor!” Ashe’s voice snapped her out of the reverie. Moira looked around and finally found her up in the kitchen. “You hungry?" 

Ashe certainly made this life look easy. The crew ate dinner together at a long table, and while Ashe sat at the head of it and didn’t deign to cook or wash the dishes, she made conversation and ate what her followers ate. By the end of the meal it was clear that they respected her as much as they feared her. It was a skill Moira lacked; it took her out of her fantasy, if only a little.

Ashe caught her staring while the others were putting away the dishes. She cracked a smile. “Something on your mind, doctor?”

Moira took a moment to respond. “Several things. As always.” She handed her plate to BOB, who was cleaning off the table. “What time shall we begin the physical tomorrow?”

“I’m more of a night person myself, so I’ll come fetch you sometime around noon.”

“Where will I be sleeping?" 

“You’ll have the privilege of staying in my quarters,” Ashe said, pushing away from the table and dusting off her hands. “Why don’t I show you to your room?”

Moira opened her mouth to clarify – _your quarters?_ – but decided against it, opting to watch and wait. It was a good decision: by _quarters_ , Ashe meant her house, and compared to the henchmen’s rooms, it was practically a mansion.

Ashe’s quarters were built off of a stretch of cliff secluded from the others; looking out her windows you could barely see the tips of the others’ rooves. Though still built from scrap metal, Ashe had clearly kept the best quality stuff for herself; from the inside one could barely tell they were in such a makeshift structure. With a long, sweeping hall and a grand staircase apparently pilfered from a plane, it almost resembled a castle. _A castle made by a magpie,_ Moira mused, noting the shiny objects and baubles littering the chesterfields. BOB tried to keep them in order, no doubt, but with so many of them he could only have limited success.

They ascended the staircase and emerged on a second floor carved into the cliff, which consisted of a long hallway with two rooms on either side. Ashe gestured towards the first room on the left. “Your restroom’s the next one over, on the cave side. There should be enough hot water for a bath, should you feel the need.”

Moira doubted she would at first, but a couple of hours later, when she found herself pacing and staring out the window at the cliffs outside, she conceded that perhaps a bath would relax her. She soaked in the long copper tub until her fingers and toes wrinkled, musing vaguely about Talon and this technology. They would take an interest, she promised herself. She would make them. If she couldn’t convince them with her words, she would do so with her actions.

The newfound resolve released her enough from her anxiety that she felt she might be able to rest, so she drained the tub, toweled herself dry, and wrapped herself in a thick plush robe Ashe had left for her. It looked a little tacky; Moira preferred silk. Southern comforts indeed.

When she left the bathroom she found Ashe standing in the hall, also robed and freshly bathed. Without her makeup on, her face had a stern, angular quality to it, her eyes weighed down with dark circles. Perhaps it would have undercut her position to look so intense, but Moira found it intriguing more than anything.

“Good evening, Doctor. I thought you’d be asleep by now, what with your long day of travel.”

“I thought so myself,” Moira admitted. “I suppose I have a lot to think about.” The truth was, she often had trouble sleeping. It barely bothered her anymore – she usually spent her sleepless nights in her home laboratory – but on nights when she had little to do, it became frustrating.

“If you have another hour or two in you,” Ashe suggested, “we could get an early start on that physical.”

Moira raised an eyebrow. It must have been almost midnight.

“I said I was a night person,” Ashe said in response to the look. “Didn’t I?”

Ashe’s personal quarters were somewhat larger than Moira’s, despite the appearance of symmetry from the hall. What was perhaps most surprising was how dainty it was: the bedframe was made of metal, but it was a canopy bed with soft, white curtains. On top of a reclaimed wooden dresser sat an antique china tea set. She had a small doll collection in one corner, though Moira was almost certain some of them were stolen. Across from her bed were two chairs and a small table, and this was where Ashe bid Moira to set up her supplies and sit down. 

“Tea?” She asked, the ornate tea set in hand.

“Sure. But not for you.” Ashe glared at what she must have considered insubordination, but Moira just smirked. “We should take your heart rate first.”

Moira sipped her own tea between examinations. For her part, Ashe sat mostly still as Moira prodded at her. To Moira’s surprise, she looked away when she had her blood drawn, and her heart rate sped – just slightly, but enough to notice – just after she pressed her stethoscope to her chest.

She wrote down the numbers and an asterisk in her notepad, then put down her supplies. “How long has it been since you’ve been to a doctor?”

“Well, Morty stitches us up when we get into trouble, but a real exam?” She thought back. “Not since I was a kid, I think.”

“You wouldn’t blink twice at a high-stakes robbery, but a stethoscope makes you nervous?”

“A beautiful woman putting cold metal to my chest makes me nervous.”

Moira laughed and took a sip of her tea. “I wouldn’t think you’d blink twice at that either.” She set down her cup and sat down to rifle through her bag. “Considering your own … admirable qualities in that department.”

“Don’t make me blush, Doctor,” Ashe said. 

Still kneeling, Moira leaned forward and pulled Ashe’s hair away from her ear. “If I wanted to make you blush,” she said, shining a light inside the canal, “You’d be blushing.”

When she leaned back, Ashe was giving her an odd look. Before Moira could ask what was wrong, though, Ashe wrapped her legs around Moira’s back, cupped her face in her hands, and kissed her. Moira felt the constraint more than she felt Ashe’s tongue rolling against hers: she was pinned against the chair by Ashe’s legs. Which, she noted as Ashe’s hand wandered up into her hair, were rather muscular.

When Ashe finally pulled away, she traced Moira’s jawline with one finger. “You best remember, Doctor, that I have the power here.”

Moira smiled at that. She would have thought it almost juvenile if she didn’t find it so attractive. She was the one to break the heavy silence between them. “You’re in excellent physical condition,” she said. “An ideal candidate, pending a couple more minor tests.”

That seemed to stroke her ego enough, as she loosened her grip on Moira a little bit. Moira let Ashe kiss her once more – slower and lighter and more comfortable this time – and then found her restraints undone as Ashe brought her legs back down.

Ashe watched quietly as she stood and returned to her supplies. She seemed a little surprised, though, when, having packed her things, Moira leaned over her chair. “There is something I tell all of my patients,” she said. “To get the sort of power I can offer, you need to give up a little power as well. That is the nature of my medical practice. As it is with sex.” She pressed a finger to Ashe’s lower lip, then stood, turned on her heel and strode to the door.

As she opened it, Ashe appeared behind her and pushed it closed. She had that look again, which Moira now recognized as a certain sort of frustration.

Moira laughed. “If you want to lock the door and fuck me against it, I have no objections. But waiting until I want you enough to lock the door myself would make it all the sweeter.”

Ashe approached, and for a moment Moira wondered if she was more impatient than the Doctor had thought … but then she took her hand off the door. She stroked Moira’s cheek, then traced her fingers down her neck and her collarbone. Her fingertips brushed lightly past Moira’s chest before she stepped aside. 

“Good evening, Doctor,” she said. “Sleep well.”

And to her surprise, Moira did.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira conducts her physical exam. Ashe passes with flying colors - for the most part ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait - I actually struggled with this one a bit! As a bit of an apology this one gets raunchier than I'd originally planned. ;)

“Now take a deep breath.” 

 All fell silent as Moira pressed her equipment against Ashe’s ribcage. Too silent. She raised her head. 

 “You’ve been running for fifteen minutes. You can breathe more deeply than that.”

 “It’ll take more than that to see me get winded, Doctor.” Ashe cracked a smile, but her shoulders, quivering just slightly, betrayed her body’s need for oxygen. Still, she kept her eyes on Moira in some sort of misguided challenge. 

 The doctor scowled. “It’s for the test, Ashe.” Ashe took a moment to think about that, then resigned herself to the situation and let herself breathe more deeply. Clearly, it brought her some relief. Still holding the device to Ashe’s chest, Moira leaned down once more to listen. 

 Ashe had been at these power plays all day. At first Moira found them intriguing, and, considering the circumstances, rather attractive. When Ashe ushered her through the door to the common room with a sweeping gesture and a hand on the small of her back, for example, Moira felt a delicious warmth slither up her abdomen. But now she was using every test as an opportunity to show off. Moira certainly didn’t mind the view, but there were few things that turned the doctor off more than botched test results.

 Moira took some notes on a holopad and lifted her head. “A break is in order, I think,” she said.

 “By now we’ll have missed lunch,” Ashe said, with the tiniest sigh that told Moira she regretted that fact. “I’ll have BOB fix you something, if you’d like.”

 “Just tea will do.”

 Apparently noticing the shortness in Moira’s voice, Ashe took her time in the common room. Moira, meanwhile, went through the test results. Ashe was in impeccable physical condition, of course – for the most part. She exercised and kept herself healthy. But looking at the numbers now, Moira saw what Ashe was trying to hide. She ran just off-balance on her right side. When she drew her shotgun up to aim down the sights, her arm stuck just a little at a particular moment. When she lifted a weight above her, she trembled a little and winced, and not because she was struggling. The signs were barely noticeable to Moira, and only made sense now with the data in front of her.

 Moira watched quietly as Ashe returned with BOB in tow. Just tea evidently would not do for the butler – he’d prepared a set of fluffy cream-filled cakes which smelled like vanilla and lemon and matched the earl grey rather well. Moira couldn’t help but smile as she bit into the cake and saw his eyes light up. She would have pegged his expression as nostalgic if she didn't know that his face was metal and immovable.

 She waited until he was gone and safely out of earshot before beginning. “You’re in good health, but you’ve been hiding something from me.”

 “Oh?” Ashe poured her tea and leaned forward.

 “Were you shot recently? Perhaps in the shoulder?”

 “No,” Ashe replied simply. When Moira, sitting straight as a board so she was almost above her, raised an eyebrow at that, she hesitated. “Not recently.”

 “How long ago?”

 “Oh, it’d be two or three years now. Bullet went clean through my shoulder, but it left something in there that gives me trouble now and again. It’s nothing I can’t grit my teeth through.”

 “Two or three _years?_ ” Moira put her tea down. “Do you have a doctor in your crew?”

 “Not at the moment. We did then, but when I was mad and in pain he could barely hold a scalpel straight. The poor boy was so scared I’d kill him if he messed up.” She pantomimed the gesture: wide eyes, a quivering lip, two hands holding a scalpel like it was his only weapon in a gunfight.

 Moira chuckled. “Would you have?”

 “Course not!” Ashe looked offended at the suggestion. “Not unless it was a really big mistake.”

 “You mended it yourself?”

 She nodded. “Bob did what he could. I did the rest.”

 “You did decent work,” Moira contended. “But it’s still causing you discomfort. I can do more to alleviate that.”

 “Oh, I’d rather not, doctor. I’ve gotten used to it by now. I think it improves my aim.” Ashe flashed a smile.

 Moira was undeterred. “Aim or no, it could cause you a severe disadvantage on the field in the right circumstances. You should let me take a look at it.”

 “I said I’d rather not.” Ashe’s voice turned so sharp so fast that Moira felt like she’d been pricked. Ashe held her gaze for a long moment, and in her eyes Moira saw a threat – but the threat of a wounded animal, not a person in power. Then, when Moira opened her mouth to speak, Ashe put her tea down, stood up, and strode out of the room.

* * *

Ashe didn’t return to take the last of her physicals. At dinner she was the picture of a cordial host, and as charming with her underlings as ever – but she barely acknowledged Moira’s presence. When Moira decided to retire early, she hardly even spared a glance up from her card game.

 She supposed it was better this way. Mild flirting made for good entertainment, but at the end of the day they were business partners. If the former got in the way of the latter, it was clear what both of them would choose. Considering the matter resolved, Moira nodded to herself, unbuttoned her shirt, and opened a book she’d brought on her holopad to read. She stretched out on the bed and tucked into it for the night.

 Only, she found herself barely able to parse out the words. When she had to read one sentence four times before gaining even a basic understanding of it, she gave up and tossed the holopad across the bed.

 It bounced and landed on the floor with a crash. She winced – she hadn’t realized she was throwing it so hard. She closed her eyes for a moment – perhaps she might be able to sleep? – but almost immediately she felt the tension in her body and the blood pumping through her chest. Neither sleep nor focus would find her anytime soon.

 At a loss for what to do, she pored over the data from the physical. Ashe would be happy to know that she was cancer free – and on top of that, her bloodwork was excellent. Even better than the preliminary results. Other than the poorly-healed wound, it was all good news. She prepared a few graphs on her holopad to show her when she was ready. _If she’s ever ready,_ she thought. The idea should have been amusing. Moira was surprised to find that it was decidedly not.  

 Then she paced the length of the room until she heard Ashe’s door open and close. The noise exacerbated her affliction even further. Perhaps clearing the air would help. Moira took a moment to prepare – a moment she didn’t know she needed until she found herself frozen in her doorway – and then, when she found she could move again, went out into the hall. She readied herself to knock, and perhaps to wait outside for some time – but she found the door open and Ashe standing by the window, staring outside. Moira couldn’t see her face, but even from behind she could see that her shirt was unbuttoned. She almost left then and there, but Ashe wiggled a finger at her, and obediently, she stepped forward and shut the door behind her.

 She’d prepared what she was going to say, and it came out dutifully, like something memorized by rote. “I understand if you don’t trust my abilities yet,” she said. “I also understand if you lack trust in the medical profession more generally.”

 She meant to go on, but Ashe stopped her. “It’s not that.”

 Moira opened her mouth, then closed it. So much for the speech.

 “I got in scraps as a kid,” she said. “Didn’t have much else to do, really. No one who really cared about me enough to tend to my wounds, neither. So I clung to that pain like a child to her mother. If I could take it, I told myself, then I was strong. But if I let them see it, then I let them win.”

 With a little wince, she wriggled her right arm out of her shirt and showed Moira her shoulder.

 She could still see the outline of the scar, like a tiny puckered mouth – but it was wreathed in petals. She’d tattooed a rose on top of it. The vines snaked down her arm, covered in thorns.

 “So you see now. I don’t want to let go of my strength.”

 Moira walked forward until she could feel the breeze coming in from the window. She admired the tattoo for a moment. She had never been a fan of art, not least of which the sort of art that required burning ink into your skin – but the way the petals grew from the scar tissue fascinated her. She wanted to study it.

 Before she could examine it, though, Ashe put her shirt back on and turned towards her. “I know it’s a little childish,” she continued. “And I don’t mean to say I seek pain out. I’ve just gotten into the habit of carrying on with it.”

 Moira felt another sort of fascination creeping up inside her, and before she could temper it she pushed Ashe backwards onto her desk, slipped her hand behind her neck, and kissed her. Ashe paused a moment, considering, and then opened herself up to it. Her legs relaxed and parted, and she rested a hand on Moira’s waist.

 She started a little when Moira’s fingers found the scar. Moira pulled away a moment. “Letting go can be strength in itself,” she whispered.

 Ashe opened her mouth to say something, but Moira kissed her neck and made her gasp instead. Satisfied at the silence, she traced a line with her tongue across Ashe’s collarbone and then down, finally finding her breast. She drew soft circles around her nipple, moaning lightly as it went hard, and let her hands explore elsewhere. She slipped her fingers up between Ashe’s thighs and heard her heartbeat quicken in her chest.

 Moira pulled away to find Ashe leaning back against the table, her breaths heavy and her face flushed.

 “So that’s what it takes to get you winded,” she said, satisfied.

 Ashe frowned. “All that for a tease?” She clearly wanted to sound threatening, but her words came out breathy and a little desperate. Moira couldn’t help but be smug as she walked back towards the door.

 “Come to my room after the heist,” she said. “Then we can see about … resolving the matter.”

 Of course, she expected to be stopped. Sure enough, as soon as she touched the door, Ashe was on her. Moira welcomed the aggression, pulling at Ashe’s arms and beckoning her tongue inside. She always had to have the last word. Moira was happy to oblige.

 What she didn’t expect was how brazen Ashe could be. While Moira had taken pleasure in exploration – there was nothing more pleasurable than witnessing first-hand the capacities and limitations of the human body – Ashe preferred a direct approach. She knelt down, pushed Moira up against the door, and pulled her pants down to her knees. Her tongue moved so quickly and so forcefully up against Moira’s sex that she couldn't help but let out a moan. With one hand she held Moira in place as she pressed the other inside her.

For a moment, Moira almost forgot that this was a game. And then, as quickly as it began, Ashe’s grip loosened on Moira’s chest and she pulled away. In one swift motion she pulled Moira’s pants back up to her waist, stood up, and opened the door behind them. Moira wanted her so badly then that when Ashe pushed her backwards with her own body, she only gasped and craned her neck to kiss her.

And then Ashe stepped back through the doorway into her room. “Goodnight, then, doctor,” she said with a smirk, and shut the door in Moira’s face.

 

 


End file.
